


don't be shy, i'm your guy

by winterPearls



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blink and you'll miss it, Librarian Harry, M/M, Shy Harry, Shy Louis, fluffy fluffy fluffy, lilac jumper harry, side niam, very very faint niam, zayn niall and Liam are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:35:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterPearls/pseuds/winterPearls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...Harry wondered if this pixie of a boy with crinkles by his long lashed eyes had a personality as addictive and loud as his laugh that reverberated around the otherwise silent library..."</p><p>or AU where Harry is a cute librarian that really likes one of the boys that is a regular and he just wants to talk to him but he's shy and it's cute honestly i just suck at summarizing</p><p>one shot fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't be shy, i'm your guy

**Author's Note:**

> this is my general fluffy larry[playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/winterpearls/playlist/3nAfe09y4eCdT9xKmv5nC8), and i listened to it while writing this fic!  
>  
> 
> Cheers!!!!

There are certain perks to being in charge of a library.

Harry loves these perks.

He loves being able to be the first person to wake up the grand old walls and rooms of the library, to lovingly run his hands over the light switches and flick them on, illuminating marble floors and mahogany book cases with warm golden light. He loves being the one to write silly little reminders to his coworkers, Niall and Liam, on the break room white board with the plethora of colourful markers that rest on the stain covered table. He loves knowing that all his patrons, from the fluffy ballerinas that come in clutching their mother’s hands with eyes opened wide at the pure grandeur of the library to the grumpy old men who creak as they walk and smell of tobacco and newspaper, love the library as much as he does. 

It’s a sort of safe haven for him, as well as everyone who has the pleasure of knowing about the hidden gem of a library, and he absolutely loves his job and the perks that come with it.

He especially loves the perk of having the big nice desk that sits at the heart of the library with the perfect view of the perfect boy (and his friend, sigh) that come into the library almost every day.

In all his years, (22 of them), Harry has read countless stories of mermaids that wade in the crystal depths of the seas, thousands of tales recounting the triumphs of the heroes of Greece and their glory and majesty, and he’s definitely read his fair share of sappy and horrid teen romance novels, (although he’d never admit to it in a million years.) 

Harry has read the most beautiful books and poems and stories, is like a book himself, and yet this boy trumps them all. He’s a new story all on his own, nothing like Harry’s lavender reserved pages, with his sharp chapters and achingly swift pages, and Harry might be in love with him. This boy, is absurdly captivating to harry, with his bright eyes and lithe movements that translate so beautifully into the novel like quality of his life.

But then again, Harry has always been a sucker for a good book.

It’s a Tuesday much like any other, and Harry is trying to leech the warmth out of his cup of tea while simultaneously trying to sneakily steal glances at his favorite patron, who has only just walked in a few minutes ago with his face pink from the cold air outside and his eyes almost shut as he laughs at something his dark haired companion is saying.

Harry lowers his eyes as they pass, feels his cheeks pinken lightly as he senses the pair pause in front of his desk as they trod over to their usual spot. As he watches the smaller boy’s figure plop into its usual vermillion cushioned chair, Harry can’t help but wonder if that pretty boy with the dusky honey fringe and sharp sapphire eyes tastes as sweet as his caramel sun kissed skin looks, or if this pixie of a boy with crinkles by his long lashed eyes had a personality as addictive and loud as his laugh that bends soundwaves as it reverberates around the otherwise silent library, stirring dust particles in the air and making Harry try to tamp down his smile in his cup of tea. He always seems so happy, all exclamation! marks coupled with bold words, and Harry wonders what has the power to make this boys pink lips droop into a frown, and he wonders what makes his heart beat fast. Harry wants to know the spaces between this boys sentences, to feel his pages turn under his fingers, wants to know his beginning and his middle and his end. He’s a mystery to harry and for all the things he spends a truly pathetic amount of time wondering about, Harry mostly wonders about himself. 

He wants to know when he’ll overcome his own inconvenient ellipses and shy italicized words, wants to know when he’ll get the courage to talk to this boy. The boy is always with his raven haired friend with the high cheekbones and perfect pouted mouth, and between Harry’s boy’s sun-like presence and his pretty friend’s lunar quality, they usually have every eye trained on them whenever they step foot into the library. They scribble energy onto the quiet cover of the library, and if Harry wasn’t the librarian in charge and if his coworkers actually cared about something other than investigating the texture of the other’s tonsils, he’s sure they would’ve been kicked out and banned long ago for all of their crazy antics in the serene library.

Harry loves watching this boy laugh and toss about his warm library and he loves watching this boy spit balled up pieces of paper at his Adonis friend because of the wheezy cackle it punches out of his boy, (not because of the small victory Harry would feel at seeing the perfect coif mused up.....no not at all). Harry would sit at his little desk, surrounded by old books that smelled of years of turned pages and stare at his favorite (and other not so favorite) visitor gallivanting about his cozy library. Harry usually just hides behind his wire rimmed glasses and adjusts his oversized jumper of the day, blush crawling up his cheeks whenever either one of the boys so much as looks his way. He was so gone for the boy whose eyes twinkled and whose laugh filled the library with life, splashing Harry’s pages with ink, and he hasn't even spoken one awkward word to him in his entire 22 years of life.

But then again, harry has always been a sucker for a good book.

Neither the sun nor the moon boy had ever rented a book or even had a library card, as far as Harry knew, (instead preferring to pull out the anatomy books and laugh at cartoon genitalia), so you can probably imagine Harry’s surprise/terror/fear/terror when on this very normal Tuesday where he had been dozing at his little desk with his waves coiled up into a bun and his face pressed into the nook of his elbow that was warm from his thick lilac jumper, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Harry had jumped up, his glasses sliding down his nose into a haphazard angle and he had blinked his large green eyes sleepily, looking at the small hand placed on his hunched shoulder. His eyes traveled up from the dainty wrist to the sweatshirt covered arm and chest, until his iced jade gaze met the dark lashed sapphire eyes he had been frog-face staring at for the past couple of months.

He had been expecting one of his little ballerinas or even that one older lady who like to awkwardly hit on him as she checked out the copy of 50 Shades of Grey for the 50th time, not the possible love of his life, to be tapping him so softly and gently on the shoulder.

He stared stupidly at the scruff dusted jawline of the boy for about five -or fifteen- seconds until he saw the quick little mouth quirk up at the ends and heard a delicious peal of laughter spill from it, sonnets being written and unnecessary adjectives being pressed into the page. “Hello, love…? If you've quite finished staring at my face now....” the boy teased in a husky tone, leaving Harry pleasantly surprised by the fact that it had a high tilt to it, like soft phrases written in golden ink. Harry had shut his mouth with a loud clack and the boy had laughed again, riffling Harry’s pages with his bubbly laugh. Harry's fair skin was flushed completely red by now, and his hands were sweaty. God, how was one supposed to even speak to such a charming creature like this one??? Harry thought frantically, skimming all of his chapters to find the section on how to Successfully Speak to the Boy You Regularly Stare at as he Sits with Who is Most Likely His Very Attractive Boyfriend. The boy of his dreams was standing in front of him and all he could think to say was either: a) feel in the mood for some fun facts about sloths? b) Why do you laugh at the medical illustrations of penises!!??? Explain!? Or c) I once vomited in the magazine section and blamed it on someone else please don’t tell Niall. What Harry ended up saying was, "Do I have sleep lines on my face from my glasses because once I did and I popped out to the shops and ran into my old geography teac-" before he was cut off by a calloused finger at his plush mouth effectively shutting him up and almost giving him a boner in his tight black jeans.

"Mate you do talk some shit, don't you!" The pixie boy had crowed, tapping Harry's plush bottom lip with his finger as Harry tried and failed to steady his breathing. The boy was beautiful from afar, well written pages and interesting details, but up close he was something more. He looked like he could be Harry’s favorite book, with his long eyelashes and devastatingly soft fringe that he kept fiddling with, and GOD what did Harry ever do to deserve such a novel. "Oh, erm, yeah sorry sorry! Sorry if I was staring at you, or if I mentioned sloths at all, umm my mate Niall is always saying that most people don’t really care about the leading cause of sloth deaths, it's just that I happen to ramble when I get nervous or when pretty boys talk to me that it just kind of spills out like vom-"..... Harry paused, flushing scarlet when he realized he had called this boy pretty to his face AND almost mentioned the vomit incident in the same breath. What a disaster. The boy flicked his stunning eyes to Harry's and gulped audibly, a hitch in the writing, piquing Harry's interest and convincing him that the boy hadn’t caught the almost spill about vomit.

"Well.....this is turning out better than I expected, actually," The boy said, his voice sounding pleased as he smiled shyly at Harry from under his thick lashes, eyes crinkling beautifully like Harry’s dog eared copy of Eleanor and Park that sits on his bed back home. Harry took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes, smudging wet ink and rewriting words, sure this was either a dream or a hallucination caused by the smoothie he had drank that morning (thanks to Liam's health kick, that asshole). "P-p-pardon me???" Harry stammered, his deep voice high with shock. "Well... like haven't you ever wondered why Zayn and I are always in here??? I mean, I haven't ever even picked up a bloody book!!" the boy exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck and letting out a small laugh. He was frantic slang and sharp vowel sounds and Harry couldn’t speak, so he just continued to appraise the other boy who was looking back at harry with a challenge in his eyes. He shrugged sheepishly and lifted his eyebrows at Harry in suggestion, sticking his hands in his pockets as he continues to gaze at Harry, trying to read his lines.

Harry had never been more confused in his young life. What was this boy implying?? That he had been coming to the library for something other than books??? This was insane and the more Harry thought about it, the excitement that had been rushing to fill his pages replaced with a cold dread that seeped into his words and turned them blurry. He was quiet for a moment, feeling his face lose its flush as he realized it seemed more likely that this spontaneous meeting wasn’t so much a part of destiny finally playing out as it was of some prank that the sun and the moon were playing on him. His pages stilled in his chest and the words trickled off, as he blinked back a tear and cleared his throat before whispering, "Well, if this is part of like a joke then it's not a very good one mate. I don't mean to sound rude but if you're just....messing with my head to have some fun, that is not very nice at all and I’m sorry but I don’t appre-" The boy had whipped his head and stared at Harry intently before whispering, "Oh my God, I just...," he flicked his gaze at Harry intently again, his eyes roaming over Harry's face hungrily before he continued.

"I always come in here to bloody creep on you, yeah? You're a fucking gorgeous lanky librarian that wears fluffy pastel sweaters and sinfully tight pants with equally sinful pink lips and green eyes and.....mate you've got the whole damn package!! And I've been trying to work meself up to come chat with you because you're beautiful and you drink tea all the time, and I might really like you. So to have you think that this is some sort of joke makes me really sad and….” He paused, breathing deeply before whispering, “This is actually the opposite of a joke.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, peering up at Harry, only to find Harry staring at him with his eyes wide and his pink mouth slightly open. Harry blinked once, twice, three times, before he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I think I was hallucinating for a moment there and I didn’t catch what you said. Mind saying it again?” The other boy was silent for a beat, before tossing back his sharp head and laughing, the clear tones of his giggles like notes flying across a page. Harry was confused as to what was so funny, his mind still a bit foggy from what he thought he imagined the boy having just said, when the other lad stepped closer to the desk with a soft smile on his lips.

“W-what’s so funny?” Harry asked quietly, still worried that this was some elaborate joke being pulled on him. The other boy giggled softly again before flushing slightly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re just so bloody cute! Like some confused baby animal, a kitten maybe. I’m Louis,” he extended his hand across the desk, “Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry felt his porcelain cheeks flood with scarlet warmth, wiping his sweaty hand on his thigh before reaching out to shake the proffered hand. “I’m Harry, Harry Styles.”

Harry squeaked in surprise as he felt his arm being tugged, resulting in him standing up behind his desk with his boots knocking into the worn wood of the table. His hand was released, nerves tingling, and he was about to apologize for the loud squawk that had escaped his lips when he saw Louis stepping around to the back of the desk. He stood beside harry, a grin on his lips, before hefting himself up to sit on the desk. “I know your name, Harold.” Louis teased gently, nudging at Harry with his foot, before spreading his arms to gesture to the whole room around them, silent and warm and filled with his bright energy. 

“What do you say I sit here with you, and we can make friends and then maybe I can ask you out later. Sound good?”

Harry’s eyes widened again, shy in the face of such blatant flirting. He didn’t say anything for a minute, chewing on his bottom lip, until he felt a shoe prodding at him again.

He took a deep breath, before smiling shakily. 

“Sounds perfect.”

* * * * * * * * *

Laughter was ringing around the otherwise silent library, briefly waking up the sleeping figure with rumpled raven hair that was sprawled out on one of the couches of the sitting area, and Harry was in love.

(Or at least, in deep awe.)

Louis was absolutely radiant, his quick wit and ability to spin stories at the drop of a hat making Harry emit deep belly laughs, his eyes smushed almost closed and his tummy aching from the force of his laughter.

They’d been hanging out for almost 5 hours now, having cleared everything off of Harry’s desk so that they could sit crossed legged facing each other with their knees brushing and Louis’ feather light fingertips tracing over Harry’s booted ankle. They’d been hanging out for 5 full hours, spending the day by hounding the other with silly questions and even sillier answers plus more than three cups of tea, and Harry was dreading the moment Louis would have to rouse Zayn (Louis’ very much taken and very much PLATONIC friend, thank God) and scamper out of the library to go home while Harry stayed behind a bit to clean up and make sure the library went to sleep okay.

Louis was every bit the adventure story Harry had pegged him as, with bursts of heroism and fragments of love poems floating about, and Harry couldn’t believe his luck in finding such a brilliant and fit new friend to have. He was easily one of Harry’s favorite stories, and even though they’d just met, Harry felt insanely close to the other boy. He wouldn’t have ever guessed that it felt so good to bask in Louis’ attention, to feel your toes curl from the warm golden glow of Louis’ brilliance, of his genuine laugh or his crinkly eyed smile. He was like some fictional character, unreal and seemingly perfect, and Harry was struggling to continue enjoying the intensity of his company because, well.

You see, the longer Harry looked at Louis, the more he wanted him. His mouth was beautiful, pink and slightly chapped but still plump enough to still glisten prettily under the lights of the library. His lips moved in intoxicating shapes as he spoke, quirking up at the ends when he was waiting for Harry to respond to something he had said.

Just like they were right now. He was looking at Harry with raised eyebrows, clearly having just said something that required an answer and not just a soft smile and a nod. Embarrassed at having been caught daydreaming and staring at Louis’ mouth, Harry felt his face flush under Louis’ soft gaze. “Sorry, Lou. What was that?” Louis just smiled in response, inching closer to Harry before whispering, “Were you staring at my mouth, Harold!?” His eyes were teasing, flashes of the ocean glimmering in their depths, as he waited for Harry to answer. Harry sputtered, heart racing, as he tried to think of something to say that wasn’t: a) feel in the mood for some fun facts about sloths? b) Why do you laugh at the medical illustrations of penises!!??? Explain!? Or c) I once vomited in the magazine section and blamed it on someone else please don’t tell Niall. He was still struggling for a response when Louis beat him to it, taking Harry’s breath away.

“I was looking at yours, if you’re wondering. Been staring at it for the past two hours, if ‘m being honest. I’d really like to kiss you, actually.”

He said it all so easily, liquid gold pouring from his mouth, and so confidently that Harry felt his breathing hitch and his heart start to thump in earnest. “I was just….how can you just…..yeah.”

Harry saw Louis’ face bloom into a sincere grin, moving closer to Harry until Harry could smell his cologne and see the tiny freckles on his cheeks. “Yeah? Yeah what, Harry?” he murmured softly, hand reaching up to brush a stray tendril of hair behind Harry’s ear. “Y-you could kiss me, if you wanted to.” As soon as he spoke, Harry clenched his eyes shut, twin flushes of scarlet blooming on his cheeks. He waited for Louis to respond and upon hearing only the soft snuffling of a sleepy Zayn, Harry’s voice rose in nervousness, slightly hysterical laughs bubbling out of his mouth as he tried to backtrack and undo the damage he had undoubtedly wrought upon himself, “HAHA! Wait whaaaaat!?? I don’t want you to kiss me! Well, only if you wanted to kiss me that is, I mean you don’t have to kiss me, nope not at all!! Not kissing is pretty fun actually, like even better than kissing actually!! Who even likes kissing!!! Not me ahaha!! Like I can tell you about sloths and hey! Did you know that most sloths meet their death when they think tha-“

Harry’s frantic and awkward ramblings were swiftly cut off by the softest press of plush lips on his own, warm and soft and entirely, overwhelmingly, Louis’. Louis pecked his mouth softly, once twice three times, before drawing away slightly to whisper, “Why are you talking about sloths when I’m trying to kiss you,” against Harry’s lips. The only response was a quiet whimper from Harry, his whiskey rough voice sending shivers down Louis’ spine.

He leaned forward again, hands coming up to cradle Harry’s face gently in his rough palms as he tilted his head to gain better access to the velvet heat of Harry’s sweet mouth. Louis was gentle with his kisses, sweetly sipping at Harry's plump lips and darting his quick little tongue out to brush Harry's mouth, licking at the seam of those shell pink lips. Harry sighed shakily, trembling slightly, and Louis smiled against his mouth, gently nipping at his swollen lower lip once, twice, until Harry was squirming against him. He was so responsive, this cute little librarian with the long legs and cascading chocolate waves, and Louis was already way too addicted from just ONE afternoon in the ambiance of his amber coloured existence. He pressed further into Harry's mouth, suddenly frantic with the need to taste Harry on the back of his tongue as he licked into the warm heat of it and making Harry grip his waist tightly.

Harry had shuffled forward a bit, was leaning onto Louis’ thighs with his forearms as his face was trapped in Louis’ grip. Louis urged him up, pulling Harry’s pliant frame to settle on Louis’ lap. He was lean and beautiful, Harry was, and Louis was heady with the feeling of Harry’s lush thighs against his own as he wrapped his long arms around Louis’ neck, lashes fluttering on his cheeks where they were closed. He held onto Louis with a vice grip, as though afraid to fall, and Louis broke away slightly to whisper, "I've got you, love. Don't worry." At this, Harry relaxed against Louis and even raised his hand to tangle in the hair at the base of Louis’ neck. Louis was so gone for this boy, with his lanky limbs and shell pink mouth, and he was eternally indebted to Zayn for having bet him that he wouldn't ask the cute librarian (whom he had been stalking for the past months) for a pen.

He’d take trading lazy kisses with a pretty boy on his lap over a pen any day.

When they finally broke apart, Harry's mouth was raw and red and Louis was nuzzling into the pale column of his throat. Harry opened his hazy green eyes to meet dusky cerulean ones and smiled, his heart rabbit thumping in his chest as Louis placed a kiss at the hollow of his throat. "Can I take you out on a date please?" Louis whispered against Harry's neck and felt Harry shiver at the brush of lips against his pulse point. "I'd be a bit offended if you didn’t, if m'honest." Harry answered cheekily, dimpling sweetly at Louis. Louis broke out into one of his signature crinkly eyed smiles and, in order to try and tamp his grin down, proceeded to place kisses over the entirety of Harry’s face, heart about to explode with happiness. Here was the boy of Louis’ dreams, agreeing to a date!! With him!!!

Louis leaned back a bit from where his lips had been pressing kisses into the soft violet of Harry’s closed eyelids and winked, "Well love, don’t you think you should give me your phone number then? Can't very well call you up and swoop you off your booted feet if I don’t have your number, now can I," he teased. Harry flushed a lovely rose color and he nodded, looking away from Louis as he started to worry his kiss swollen lips. His voice was husky when he spoke, rough but soft as he carefully whispered, “You don’t have to do that, you know.” Louis felt a surge of protectiveness for the other boy, sensing Harry's insecurity. He pressed closer to Harry again and gently brushed his fingers along Harry's forearm to get his attention. "I'm serious, Haz," Louis said gently, the nickname slipping out as if it was second nature. "I'd honestly like nothing more than to take you out on a date. I’ve got to properly wine and dine you now, obviously. Preferably sooner than later." Harry raised his gaze to meet Louis' soft eyes, and his worried expression broke away to a soft glowing one. Louis' heart raced at the sight and leaned up to sweetly suck on Harry's lips. "Yeah, yeah okay." Harry said in a silky voice. He grabbed a scrap of paper and jotted down his number in elegant handwriting. He passed it to Louis shyly and Louis saw it was signed with a happy face and two x's. His heart swelled with affection and he and Harry sat there, with their bodies slotted together so perfectly, just soaking in the other's presence.

As Louis and Zayn left the library that night (after many many MANY goodbye kisses and hugs, mind you), Louis walked with a skip in his step and a smile on his face, reveling in the thought of Harry and he going out on an actual date together. He couldn't help but whoop with delight as he scampered ahead of Zayn because finally, things were going right.

In all his months of running to the library, Louis had spent a pathetic amount of time thinking about the slender boy with chocolaty boots that was always seated at his proper little desk. Louis had never thought he needed anything to make his story better, to add finesse to his lines or rhythm to his stanzas, but he’d known from the first moment h had caught a glimpse of that tousled head of curls that that boy was special. Louis had always wondered whether the shy librarian was as soft as his wavy hair looked, and he had always wondered what made him sometimes bit his plush lip while typing into his old computer, long fingers dancing elegantly on the keyboard. He'd wondered whether the librarian was as sweet as his smile was, and he wondered how it was possible for eyes to be so green and skin so fair, like a real life Disney princess. He had always wondered if the soft librarian’s dimples would carve craters down his face (if and) when Louis first spoke to him the way that they did whenever a tiny child ran up to him with a book in her arms, but mostly, Louis had wondered when the cute librarian with the wicked smile and beautiful heart would ever be his to hold and kiss forever and ever.

And now, as he waited for Zayn to unlock the flat’s door, he tapped out a text to the contact titled Hazkaban .

Hi Harold, is tomorrow too soon to ask to wine and dine you?? P.S You smell like books and cinnamon ;P

He pressed ‘send’ and he knew. Harry was already his as much as he was already Harry's. And that fit him perfectly fine.

After all, Louis was always a fool for a sucker for a good book.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're not feeling too shy, [come say hi to me on tumblr!](https://bulletprooofbarnes.tumblr.com/)


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